


Save My Life Tonight

by Terrantalen



Category: Escape from New York (Movies), The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Action Movie Reality Bending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Because That’s How I Do, Boosh Reality Bending, Crack, Life-Saving Semen, M/M, Oral Sex, Suffice To Say Reality Is Bent, The Boots Are Tagged Because They Might As Well Be The Fourth Person In The Threesome, Threesome, hot crack, thigh high boots, this is normal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28162587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terrantalen/pseuds/Terrantalen
Summary: Howard and Vince accidentally find themselves in the dark, dystopian streets of future New York, lost, a bit afraid, and with no idea why they’re there. When Snake Plissken appears, he makes an unusual proposal that might just be their only way back home.An unusualsexyproposal.In which I finally make good and write a proper threesome.
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir, Howard Moon/Vince Noir/Snake Plissken
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: Trash Triplets Crackmas 2020: It's All About Range





	Save My Life Tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kateyboosh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateyboosh/gifts).



Usually, when things are going this poorly, it’s because Howard has done something. Usually, he’s decided to open a box he’s not supposed to, or taken an amulet that doesn’t belong to him, or forced Vince to clear up a bunch of rubbish. This time, though… Well, Vince has to admit, it’s not Howard’s fault.

Vince was the one who spilled his cocoa on the DVD player, and the one who thought he could just swap it out for the DVD player in Naboo’s room, and the one who put on _Escape from New York_ in the first place (though, Howard would have probably picked something well creepy if he’d have been given the chance) (something all black and white) (with kettles of blood lying about and cow feet hanging over them) (something that was a long, boring metaphor for famine or Stalingrad or whatever) (with subtitles) (and then they’d actually be _worse_ off than they are) (but try and get Howard to admit that for half a second) so, yeah. He’s fucked it. Sure.

But Howard really is carrying on more than he should. They’ve been in worse situations, and, anyway, Vince looks _well_ cool. Thigh-high black boots and a kind of clingy reddish shirt-dress, all ripped up, that leaves a gap of about an inch between the hemline and the top of the boots. He’d probably be freezing if he didn’t have the long, purple leather coat that’s swishing around his ankles with every move. Plus, his hair is teased up so high, it’s practically in the stratosphere, all spiky and tangly like a jungle made of electrical tape. Combine that with the black shadow he’s got smudged around his eyes, and he’s looking basically the best he ever has. 

Whenever he catches his reflection in an unshattered window, or in a puddle on the street, he takes a moment to appreciate the effect.

Howard doesn’t seem to notice, though. Not that he would, since he usually doesn’t, but he hasn’t even looked at Vince since they’ve got here. He keeps peering around corners and jumping at shadows as they walk through the dark streets, keeps grumbling about _meddling with the occult_ and how _this is just bloody perfect_.

Whatever.

They’re crossing yet another dark, deserted street when Vince finally snaps, “Alright! It’s not like I knew that the DVD player was magic, yeah?”

Howard shakes his head, keeps warily staring ahead at nothing. “You still took it from Naboo’s room, and nothing good has ever come from Naboo’s room.”

“That’s not true,” Vince says, hopping over a puddle and giving himself a quick glance. “What about the time we got those lollies out of there that made us float? Those were genius!”

“I almost drifted into powerlines!”

“That was because you went near the window and got blown out. If you’d just stayed in the middle of the room, you’d have—”

“Shhh,” Howard says, reaching out and placing his hand in the center of Vince’s chest to stop him. “Hear that?” he whispers.

Vince does hear something. A scraping noise coming from down the street. He looks toward it and sees a manhole cover getting disturbed. Instinctively, he shelters behind Howard, watching from behind his shoulder as the manhole cover is slid back and then a figure emerges from it.

At first, it’s too dark and Vince doesn’t properly realize who he’s looking at, and, whatever else, the streets of past-future New York are well Crime Watch, so seems better to be quiet and try to stay unnoticed, but then Vince catches the signature shift of lion-like mane and he knows that it’s got to be Kurt Russell that’s popped up onto street level. Or, Snake Plissken. Whatever.

Either way, that’s got to be a good sign? Seems logical that the way out of this mess would somehow involve the protagonist of the film. Vince steps from behind Howard, “Oi, mate!” he shouts. “All right?”

“Have you gone mental?” Howard hisses pulling Vince back at the same time that Snake points something at them. 

A gun. 

Oh.

“Who the fuck are you?” he hisses. The sound carries a good hundred feet, even though he’s not spoken louder than a terse whisper. Vince is well impressed. He’s also terrified, but still. Impressed, too.

He’s even more impressed as Snake stalks toward them. His hair floats around his face like he’s underwater or in space or something. It’s the best hair Vince has ever seen. Well, the best hair that doesn’t belong to him, personally. 

“What do you use on your hair?” Vince asks, wild with curiosity, even in the face of the gun pointed in his general direction. 

Snake looks him over. He tilts his head, lowers the gun. His single eye is focused on Vince’s face. “You,” he says, and Vince has a very weird moment where he thinks that Snake is answering his question, that he somehow extracts whatever powers his supernatural hair from _Vince_ , but then Snake adds, “You’re him.”

Vince is used to people looking at him with a certain amount of intensity. He’s not surprised, exactly, that Snake is looking at him with interest (again, Vince is looking _really_ good) (good enough to confuse just about anybody) but there is something a little frantic in his eye, too. Something that Vince finds a little… concerning. He glances at Howard to see what he’s making of all this, but Howard is just staring at the gun and doesn’t seem to realize it’s not being pointed at them anymore.

“Who am I supposed to be?” Vince asks.

“You’re the one I’m looking for.” Snake holsters the gun on his thigh. He pulls out some sort of device and slaps the side. It beeps faster and faster as Snake holds it out at Vince.

“What’s that?” Vince asks.

“Tracker,” Snake replies. A smile overspreads his face as the beeps get faster, and faster. “Good,” he says, “I was worried you’d be dead. That would have made this a lot harder.”

“Made what a lot harder?”

“My mission,” Snake tells him.

“Sorry, but what’s he got to do with your mission?” Howard interjects. He’s snapped out of whatever trance he was in, probably because he read the back of the DVD case. He knows, just as well as Vince does, that the plot of _Escape From New York_ hasn’t got anything to do with either of them. 

Snake is supposed to look for the president, then a briefcase. He’s supposed to go to the New York Library and meet up with Harry Dean Stanton and Adrienne Barbeau and Ernest Borgnine. Then, there’s a bit with a well cool car with chandeliers for headlights, and something to do with a basketball court (or maybe that’s in the sequel), but the point is, none of that has got anything to do with Vince.

Snake gives Howard an unfriendly eye. He takes a step toward him. His hand doesn’t fall to the holster on his hip, but he puts the tracker away, and his hand on that side is empty. “The brief didn’t mention you. Who the hell are you anyway?”

Howard is by far the tallest of the three of them. He’s the biggest too. He could try to use some of that to his advantage, pull himself up, leer down menacingly. Least, that’s what Vince would do if he had Howard’s body, but that’s not what Howard does. Howard retreats a step, actually shrinks down a bit. “Howard Moon,” he mumbles. “At your service, sir.”

Snake lifts his chin, gives Howard a sneer. “Yeah? Well, whoop dee fuckin’ doo,” he growls. He turns his attention from Howard to Vince, the dismissal clear. “Come on,” he says, gripping Vince by the arm, “you’re coming with me.”

“Where are we going?” Vince asks as Snake starts leading him toward the edifice of a burnt-out building.

“Someplace private.” 

“Why?” Vince asks, looking back at Howard, who doesn’t seem to be following them. He’s just standing out in the street like he doesn’t quite know what to do.

“Because we got private business, Sunshine.”

“I don’t think so,” Vince says, wrenching his arm out of Snake’s grip. “I’m not going anywhere without Howard.”

Snake looks shocked. Howard looks shocked too.

Well, he shouldn’t. There’s no way Vince is going to leave him all alone in this neighborhood, and if Vince is part of Snake’s mission, seems like he ought to be able to call the shots. 

Snake looks back at Howard. “Fine,” he spits. “Get your ass over here, Moon.”

Howard complies, shambling like a pile of dirty laundry in the grimy old shirt and ratty trousers he’s wearing. Combine that with the general dirt that seems to have got smudged on him, and he looks like a binman who lost a fight with a particularly dusty bin. 

That sort of manly, disheveled look works for Howard, though.Vince has the thought and then shoves it away. It doesn’t matter. 

Vince is looking at the building in front of them by the time Howard catches up with them.

Snake kicks in the door, then waits for Vince to enter the dark interior in front of them. Vince hasn’t really got anything else on, so he goes, careful of the shattered plywood and ripped up sheets of paper that litter the ground in the narrow band of streetlight.

“Have you got a torch?” Vince asks Snake.

“Listen, pal. I don’t have time for your old-timey English bullshit.”

Vince flicks his hair out of his face and plants his hand on his hip. “I’m asking for a flashlight.” 

Snake doesn’t seem at all deterred by Vince’s backchat. He looks past him. “It’s not that dark.”

Vince is about to ask him what he’s on about, but then he realizes that Snake is right. It’s really not that dark, somehow. Vince can see perfectly well, even though there isn’t a single source of light in the whole place. Must be a feature of the alternate reality they’re in. Even so, Vince isn’t that keen on sneaking through the dim interior of what looks like a smashed up nightclub. “Lead the way,” he says.

Snake gives him another sneer, and, yeah, alright. It’s well sexy. As Snake pushes past him, Vince might take a second to appreciate the rear view.

“Oh, don’t start,” Howard says indignantly. 

“What?” Vince whispers. It’s strange, but he’s sure that, even though Snake is no more than a few feet away, he can’t hear this whispered conversation.

“Checking him out.”

“What?” Vince asks, this time with a laugh. Howard doesn’t look like he’s fooled. Since when does Howard notice Vince checking anyone out? If he did, he’d have noticed Vince checking out… other people. Vince pushes his hand up into the back of his hair. “Like it matters. This ain’t that kind of film, yeah?”

“Unbelievable. I suppose that’s why you wanted to watch it in the first place. Get a good look at Kurt Russell, then ‘straighten your hair’ for two hours.”

“That’s how long it takes,” Vince says, bristling against yet another potential row about how much time he spends getting his look right, then it hits him. “I’d not have a wank over Snake Plissken!” (at least not one that would take two hours to complete).

The words echo somewhat in the room and Vince makes a face. Snake is watching the pair of them. It’s obvious he caught that last comment. 

His single eye flares bright as he takes a drag off the cigarette he’s magicked from somewhere. “Lover’s spat?” he asks, exhaling the smoke through his teeth.

Vince folds his arms across his chest. “We’re off the street, why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”

Snake smiles. He flicks his just-started cigarette down and grinds it under his boot. “It’s about you, Sunshine.” He pushes up off the bar and slides his jacket off his shoulders. It slips down his arms. He catches it before it hits the floor and lays it across a dusty barstool. “And it’s about me.”

Vince takes in Snake’s broad chest and the silly zippers near his shoulders, his bare, muscular arms, and tight trousers. It’s not that kind of film, he reminds himself. 

It’s not. 

So, then, what’s happening? “I don’t understand.”

“You’ve got something I need. Something I need to survive, see?” Snake takes a step toward Vince, and Vince doesn’t know whether he should be getting a bit excited or not, but he is. 

“I’m going to have to stop you there, Snake,” Howard says and Snake freezes. “We actually don’t have anything.”

“I might have something,” Vince says. Howard shoots him a suppressive look and Vince shuts up. 

“We just got here not twenty minutes ago,” Howard continues, “with nothing on us but what you see on our backs, so. He certainly can’t have anything on him that you could need to survive.”

“He’s got it,” Snake says, taking another step. “Not on him.” He reaches toward the gun strapped to his thigh. “In him.”

The room receives this news with the sort of silence that normally follows a threat of ad hoc surgery.

Vince creeps behind Howard and watches Snake’s hand as he fumbles with his gun. He wonders if he’s going to be dead in real life if he dies in the film or if he’ll just wake up back home on the sofa next to Howard. Maybe Vince fell asleep and the thing with the DVD player is just part of a dream; only Vince’s dreams are never like this, all dark and full of set dressing, and they never feature anything even remotely resembling a plot. Usually, it’s just colors and sounds, maybe a flash of the shop, or the zoo, or of large hands clasping his thighs, or… whatever.

The gun holster suddenly comes loose from Snake’s thigh and falls to the floor. Vince looks at it, then looks up at Snake. He certainly doesn’t _look_ like he wants to kill him.

“Sorry,” Howard says, “When you say _in him_ , what does that mean?”

“It means I need his jizz, pal.”

The pause this time isn’t as long. “Okay,” Howard says. “Sure.” He turns on Vince, “Care to explain this?”

“Like I’ve got answers! I don’t know what’s happening any more than you do.”

“Right.”

“Howard, honestly!” Vince says. Snake is still stalking toward him, quite sexily, actually, and Vince is newly aware that his outfit provides easy access to certain bits of his anatomy, and if Snake is game, he’s happy to—no he’s got to sort this out with Howard, first. He holds his hand out toward Snake. “Look, can you just hang on a moment?”

Snake stops and looks at the watch on his wrist. The digital readout is counting down. It ticks past twenty minutes. “I’m on the clock, here, Sunshine. I don’t have time for you to work out your relationship problems. We’re all adults. And, frankly, I don’t give a fuck what happens as long as I get out of this thing alive.”

“That’s great,” Vince says, “but there must have been some kind of mistake. What Howard said is true. We just showed up here and we honestly haven’t got a clue what’s happening, and, as flattering as it is that you think having it off with me might save your life, I don’t really see how that could possibly work, and I’m not sure exactly what you mean when—”

“I’m saying that I don’t mind if he joins.”

Vince’s jaw drops as that suggestion plunges through him like an Olympic diver. Fuck. He prays that Howard isn’t looking where Snake is, which is at Vince’s cock, because it’s taken a sudden and intense interest in what Snake is saying.

“That’s not happening,” Howard says, crossing his arms. “In fact, I don’t think I’m going to stay around for this. I’d hate to spoil what’s bound to be a lovely evening, so, I’m just going to go take my chances out on the street, thanks.”

Snake smirks. “Your loss.”

Howard starts toward the door. Something outside smashes, there’s a scream and a whoosh as a wave of orange light flashes against the doorframe. Maniacal laughter sounds and then there is a pop. It goes silent. Howard freezes where he is and turns around. “On second thought, I’ll just be over there. In the corner. Carry on.”

“Great choice,” Snake says. He pulls his shirt up over his head and Vince is treated to the sight of tanned skin skimming over firm-looking pecs and a cobra tattoo coiling up from the waistband of Snake’s trousers. God, he looks good. If they were alone, Vince would be on him like a flannel. It’s not like situations like this come about every day, after all, but they’re not alone. Howard is in the room.

It’s not like Vince has never got off in the same room as Howard before (to be fair, though, separate sleeping bags might as well be different rooms) (especially when you‘re next to someone who sleeps as heavy as Howard does) but he’s never got off _with someone else_ while Howard was in the same room. 

All he’d have to do is turn his head and he’d be able to watch the whole thing. 

Another hot flash of desire pings through Vince’s body like a pinball.

He’s rapidly coming to the conclusion that Snake is hot, yeah, but it’s not really him that he wants to get off with.

“This is all going a bit fast,” Vince says, stepping backward again. “Couldn’t we just… get to know one another, or…”

“What don’t you understand about ‘I’m on the clock’? I don’t have time to waste.”

Vince looks over to where Howard has stationed himself in the corner. He’s frowning. Vince can’t actually see his face, but he can tell anyway, just from the set of Howard’s shoulders.

“I just don’t understand how this is supposed to help?” Vince says.

Snake rolls his eye. “It’s simple. I was sent in by the prison commissioner to find you. You were implanted with half the genetic code to an antivirus that will react with the other half of the antivirus in my bloodstream, which I need, because the bastards infected me. I need to ingest some of your DNA to cure myself, then I’m out of here with the antiviral code intact and the scientists on the outside will be able to replicate it and create a super cure that will ultimately save the president in time for his conference in Hartford.”

“Hartford? That doesn’t make any sense!” Howard snaps from his corner.

“Hey, fuck you, pal,” Snake growls, “I don’t make the rules around here.”

“Yeah, well, ultimately, none of that sounds like it’s really Vince’s problem, does it?” Howard says, turning. “So, you can piss right off and—”

“Don’t you get it? Sunshine over there is on the clock, too.”

“What?” Vince says (seems to be all he says, lately) (honestly, this whole situation is fucking baffling).

“You’re infected, kid. This whole island is. Soon, the whole world will be. The only solution is for you and I to—”

“That is absolutely not the plot of this film!” Howard says over him. “This is the most ridiculous, absurd, _nonsense_ I have ever heard in my life! What is this? A bloody porno? What you’re saying is that you two need to complete _sexual congress_ in order to save the world?”

“Yeah,” Snake says. He’s got another cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He takes a drag then tosses it away and grinds it under his boot. Again. Who the fuck knows where he keeps getting them from. “And I don’t know where you’re from, but where I come from, life doesn’t have a _plot_ , let alone one that makes sense. I’m just doing what I have to do to survive, and what I have to do,” Snake says with a nod at Vince, “is him.” 

Howard shakes his head, like he can’t believe what’s happening. Neither can Vince, really, but he does want to be perfectly clear on one particular point. “Um, is that the only reason, or…?”

Snake looks him over and smirks. Good. 

Vince smirks back.

When Vince looks away, Howard is glaring at him. He shakes his head. “Well, then, I suppose you ought to just go to it. Why is it that no one ever has to fuck me in order to save the world?”

“It’s not like this has ever happened before,” Vince says, soothingly. “I mean, anyway…” he trails off, unsure what, exactly he wants to say. Snake said he didn’t mind if you joined? (it might make it easier if you did)? 

Snake’s wristband beeps and Vince sees the readout dip below the fifteen-minute mark. 

If they’re going to do this, they’ve got to get started. Snake’s eye is as icy blue as Vince’s own, his face a perfectly sculpted reason to thank Christ for the gift of bisexuality. 

It’s to save the world, which is important, because they’re probably not going to get out of here otherwise. Vince has got to. He also wants to a fair amount, but, _has to_ is pretty important when you’ve got your best mate watching you like you’re stabbing him in the back as you take a step toward a handsome, shirtless man who is a sexual fantasy brought to life. 

Vince does his best to ignore whatever he’s feeling (something uncomfortably like guilt) as he touches the side of Snake’s face and kisses him on the mouth.

It’s a nice kiss. Snake has got just enough stubble to prickle, enough to contrast the sharpness with the softness of his lips. He tastes less like cigarette smoke than Vince is expecting, more like something properly explained by an advert for men’s deodorant. Like gasoline overlaid with notes of coconut and pine. It’s nice, but…

Howard, fussing with little balls of Blu-tack, snapping his fingers to rhythmless nonsense music, explaining all about _motif_ in films while a dutchman drones on about early frosts, sleeping inches away while Vince just watched, wishing he might wake up and…

Vince pulls away. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t think I…”

It’s like it was before, when he was whispering with Howard and sure that Snake couldn’t hear. Now he’s whispering with Snake and he knows Howard can’t hear.

“Is it him?” Snake asks.

Vince nods. “I mean, we’re not… together, or… It’s never been like that. And he’s never… but, I sort of… and it feels… I dunno. I just don’t think I can if he’s...”

Snake nods. “I understand.”

“You do?” Vince asks.

“Yeah.” Snake steps back then fishes out another cigarette. This time, Vince watches him light it before he takes a drag. He turns and walks to the bar and leans over it, staring at nothing.

Vince sighs, aware that he’s just doomed Snake to die.

When he turns away, he sees Howard looking between him and Snake. “You’re not done, are you?”

Vince huffs a laugh, then shakes his head. “No. It’s just… not going to happen. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“What do you mean? Haven’t you got to save the world?”

“Whatever. It’s not the real world, is it? Just a film, or… something. Come on.” Vince grabs Howard’s hand and tries to pull him toward the exit, but he gets stopped in his tracks when Howard won’t move.

“But he said you’ve got whatever virus this is, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, I guess, but—”

“Well, aren’t you a bit worried that if he’s right, you might… die?”

“In the film,” Vince says, trying to reassure himself as much as he is Howard. “We don’t know what will happen in real life, do we? I’ll probably be fine.”

“Yeah, but what if you’re not?” Howard asks. Vince is about to reassure him again, but then he realizes that Howard is actually shaking. His hand is shaking in Vince’s. He looks like he might… like he might cry. His little brown eyes are welling up. “There’s no way of knowing what could… happen.” Howard swallows and glances down at the floor. “We could both die. If I have it too. He said the whole island has.”

“Yeah, but it’s ridiculous, isn’t it? You said so yourself.”

“It might be ridiculous, but… You were willing to do it, weren’t you? Don’t you think—”

“Howard, I don’t want—”

“Why not? Look at him.” Howard gestures toward Snake. “I mean, Christ. And, Vince…” he shakes his head. “I can go somewhere else if it’s… weird. I mean, not that I would watch. Or be tempted to watch. Or think about…” his eyes dart all over the place, like fish in a pond when a stork lands over them. “All I’m saying is, I know it’s not ideal, with me right here, but—”

“I’m just not interested, alright? Let’s get out of here and smash up some windows or something. Take our minds off—”

“Your impending death?” Howard asks sharply. “Yes, let’s distract ourselves from that!”

Howard pulls his hand away, and it’s only when he wipes his eye with it that Vince realizes they were holding hands the whole time. He wonders if it’s really possible. If he’s really going to die if he doesn’t get off with Snake. It’s none of it real, can’t be, and yet, it feels very real.

The air is humid and stale. It smells like dust and old booze in the room they’re standing in. It is suspiciously well-lit, but when Vince presses the toe of his beautiful thigh-high against the edge of a piece of plywood, he feels the muscle of his leg flex to push it out of the way. Come to that, the thigh-high is sticky, all along his calf and up his leg, the leather slightly tacky where he has begun to sweat.

If it’s true, his only chance for survival will be gone in (less than) fifteen minutes. If that’s the case, then… fuck. There’s something he’s got to say.

“Howard… listen. I don’t want… It’s not that I’m… Fuck. Look. Don’t be weird about this, alright?”

“Weird about what?” Howard asks.

“I just don’t want to… with him… because… Fucking Christ.” Some things are harder to say than they are to show. Vince takes either side of Howard’s face in his hands and pulls it toward him. He holds him there, forces Howard to look into his eyes. Howard’s expression flits from sadness, to confusion, to deeper confusion, to recalibration, further confusion, a long rethink, and then, yes, finally, understanding.

“Really?” he asks.

Vince nods.

Howard’s arms wrap around Vince’s shoulders. He pulls Vince close and then kisses him. 

Vince presses himself as tight to Howard as he can get, wanting to be closer and closer still. It’s good, fucking great. Howard’s moustache tickles and feels funny against Vince’s nose and his body is notably softer than Snake’s, but it’s all perfect. Vince feels like goldilocks; like everything about Howard is _just right_. It’s just like he knew it would be, having this thing that he’s wanted for so long. Fuck, what did he wait for? Why didn’t he try sooner?

When they pull away from one another, they’re both trying to catch their breath. 

Vince rests his head on Howard’s chest. “I love you, Howard,” he says.

Howard squeezes him. “I love you too. That’s why you’ve got to get over there and… do what you’ve got to do with Snake.”

“What? Howard, I don’t know if I can.”

“Why not?”

“Well, he’s nice and all, yeah? But… aren’t you gonna mind?”

Howard strokes the side of Vince’s face. “It’s alright.”

“Seriously?” Vince asks.

“Yeah. I mean, you do _have to_. For the sake of the world.”

Vince looks over his shoulder to where Snake is still standing in dejected repose. It’s not like Vince is wholly against the idea, but… he bites his lip, then looks back at Howard. “D’you fancy him?” he asks.

Howard’s brow wrinkles. His eyes dart quickly toward Snake and then back to Vince. “I… suppose he’s a type of... man.”

“Oh, come on. He’s well fit, isn’t he?”

Howard shrugs. “I suppose.”

“He said, before, that he didn’t mind if, you know.” Vince wiggles in Howard’s arms. “He’d… both of us.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“So? What d’you reckon? I mean, I’d like it. If you did. If I’ve got to, it’d make it easier if you were participating, like.”

“I don’t know. I can’t exactly compare to…” Howard looks at Snake again. Vince is sure he’s looking at Snake’s curving biceps, broad back, and narrow waist. When he looks back at Vince, he seems more than a bit worried.

“He’s not real, Howard,” Vince says, then reconsiders. “Well, Kurt Russell is, and I guess he did actually look like that back when they shot this, which, I mean. Pretty good, yeah? But… he’s just a fantasy, really. You’re who I want. Provided this isn’t actually real and we’re not stuck in whatever alternate reality this is forever. I mean, I still would probably choose you, but you can’t deny that he’s—”

“Maybe shut up, now?”

Vince nods. “Okay.”

“You really want me to…?” 

Howard probably feels the answer to that question pressing into his thigh. Vince makes absolutely sure he does before he answers. “Yeah.”

Vince doesn’t think Howard has had the sort of experience he has, but Howard still seems to know the exact right way to hold Vince’s hip to keep him from pulling away before he can feel Howard’s response. His very large, and (only!) half-hard response. “Alright,” he says.

Vince leads Howard by the hand back to Snake. “Hey,” he says, and Snake turns. “So, we sort of had a chat, and turns out..." Vince shrugs and smiles.

Snake tips his head back, and his fantastic hair moves like ripe grain stirred by the wind. “Okay,” he says. “Great.”

Howard pulls his hand out of Vince’s. He traces the side of Vince’s neck. He slips the long coat off Vince’s shoulders and it falls to the floor. He rests his palms on Vince’s chest, standing behind him, and starts gently stroking Vince’s nipples through the shirtdress. Vince is surprised by how quickly Howard has taken the initiative, but, then again. They are on the clock.

Vince leans back into the touch almost involuntarily. Howard’s belly presses into the curve of his back, fitting against him like a puzzle piece. 

Snake looks up at Howard. They almost seem to have a silent conversation. Vince can only see Snake’s end of it, but it seems like Howard has communicated with him clearly enough. Snake steps forward, takes Vince by the hip and starts kissing his neck.

Howard’s hands adjust. He holds Vince around the stomach, keeps his other hand fingering Vince’s tit, then Snake’s hand takes over on the other side, and Howard’s mouth drops to Vince’s neck on the opposite side of Snake, and _JesusfuckingChrist_ , Vince already feels like he’s going to explode.

He reaches behind him and he grabs Howard’s arse, mostly for something to hold onto, as Snake’s callused fingertips start teasing between the edge of his tiny shirtdress and thigh-high. Vince’s cock is rock solid, pressing into Snake’s firm stomach, even while Howard’s cock presses just above Vince’s arse, even as Snake’s cock grinds against his hip, even as they both lick and kiss Vince’s neck, Howard doing so, deliciously, with teeth. Vince turns his head and Howard captures his lips, feeds him more of those tickly Goldilocks kisses that feel so right, but this time they’re so much more intense. 

Vince moans. Howard’s hand is crawling down, carving over the flat plane of Vince’s stomach like a glacier. Snake pushes the shirtdress up, over Vince’s hip. He pulls back a bit to give Howard’s hand more room as it keeps moving downward. 

Vince feels the shirtdress lifting, not entirely sure which of them is doing what, but the hands are off his tits, then Howard’s face is separated from his, and Vince has to raise his arms over his head so that the dress can get tossed aside.

“Fuck,” Snake hisses. Vince opens his eyes and sees Kurt Russell staring at his exposed skin with unadulterated hunger. He looks down at Vince’s bulge, which is hidden by nothing more than a pair of silky lavender panties. Vince’s cock is far too big for them. The head of his prick peeks, just slightly, out of the side.

Snake is breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly, as he watches along with Vince as Howard’s hand closes over his cock. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, Howard,” Vince pants, thrusting desperately into his palm. The panties start to slip off him. Howard keeps hold of his cock, tucks his other under his arse and starts teasing his balls. Vince spreads his thighs to accommodate, reaches up and over his head to tangle his fingers in Howard’s hair, while Howard sucks and bites his neck, and breathes against Vince’s skin, and just about kills him.

Vince writhes against him so that he can feel the hard, full line of Howard’s cock, which feels fucking _enormous_. Vince mewls, already feeling a bit desperate.

Snake, meanwhile, has started touching himself through his trousers. 

He’s not as big. Vince can tell just from feeling Howard and seeing Snake that Snake isn’t going to be as big. Howard feels like he’s got a baseball bat for a cock, and, despite what Vince has always thought, it seems like he might know how to use it.

Howard tucks his thumb under the string-like waistband of Vince’s panties and teases them down a fraction. Snake smiles, then seems to remember that he’s allowed to actively participate. He licks his lips then leans forward and sucks Vince’s nipple into his mouth. His hands soon join Howard’s sliding the panties down, but not all the way down, no; they leave them just barely clinging to Vince’s cock. 

Vince feels something cold and round against his stomach. He looks down and watches Snake hand a jar of something to Howard, then Snake stands up, presses himself against Vince’s body while he reaches behind him and starts undoing Howard’s trousers. 

It’s bizarrely erotic. The man in front of him undoing the buttons and zip of the man behind him. He feels Snake’s hands move on his back, feels Howard adjust the way he’s standing to help Snake get him undone.

The moment he feels Howard’s trousers drop, Vince is craning around behind himself to get a look, but Howard’s arms are over his chest while he unscrews the lid from the little container he’s holding, and Snake’s hands latch on to Vince’s hips and then he pulls the panties all the way down, the sound of silk sliding over leather like one, long hissed breath. 

Snake leans back, takes a good, long look at Vince with his cock out and his lavender panties tangled around the ankles of his thigh-highs. His hair stirs in a barely perceptible breeze as he smirks at what he sees.

Vince swears, turned on and frustrated, and fascinated all at once as Snake drops to his knees in front of him. His thumbs circle on the soft skin of Vince’s hip bones while he waits. What for, Vince isn’t sure, until he hears the metallic plink of the cap fall on the floor. The container is open.

Howard dips his finger into it and picks up a very generous amount of lube. He’s going to need it, Vince thinks with half a laugh, as Howard grinds into him from behind. Vince watches Howard slick his fingers, then Howard’s hand retreats from view. Howard’s fingers dip between the crack of his arse. Snake’s lips tickle the head of his cock.

Vince can hardly breathe as Snake licks over his slit, as Howard swirls his finger around Vince’s hole, as Snake’s lips part, and Howard pushes gently forward then withdraws before he’s even really got anywhere. Snake’s hands hold Vince by the hips, and Howard’s arm is still locked over his chest and fucking hell, it’s all too much.

“Come on,” Vince gasps, wanting either one or the other of them to move things on a bit. Snake’s mouth opens wider and Vince thinks he’s going to get his cock properly sucked, but then, behind him, Howard breathes a single word.

“No.”

Snake pulls back.

“What?” Vince squawks, his voice trembling, “Howard, let him, _please_.”

“Greedy,” Howard whispers. His finger presses further into Vince’s body, and, fuck, since when has Howard been _like this_? He stretches the edges of Vince’s entrance and chills frost Vince’s skin; chills and sweat. 

“Oh god, oh Christ, oh fuck, _Howard_.”

Snake laughs with the tip of Vince’s prick in his mouth. His hands clamp over Vince’s hips and he takes his mouth away as soon as Vince starts trying to wriggle backward to get Howard deeper.

“Please, come on,” Vince says, his hands scrabbling helplessly at Howard’s side.

“Shh,” Howard whispers, only about a knuckle into him. “You’ll have what you need when it’s time.”

Vince looks at the face of the digital watch on Snake’s wrist, thinking he can remind everyone that Snake is on the clock, but it doesn’t seem to have advanced like it should. It’s only just ticking past twelve minutes. It doesn’t make sense. Too much has happened since the fifteen-minute mark, but the readout shows him 11:59, 58, 57, 56… and then it’s hidden from Vince’s view by Howard’s hand wrapping around Snake’s wrist.

He guides Snake’s hand over to Vince’s cock, then says, “Make it slow.”

Surely, Snake Plissken isn’t the type to take orders, surely he’ll resent it and jerk Vince off with sure, deep strokes just to spite Howard. _Surely_ … but no. His hand caresses Vince’s cock with all the haste of the Earth orbiting the sun and he slides Vince’s foreskin toward his stomach like he isn’t on a countdown _at all_.

The pressure building up at the base of Vince’s spine, in his balls, everywhere, makes it just _impossible_ to keep still. Vince would be jumping all over the shop if he didn’t have two hands planted on his body. Snake’s non-cock-teasing hand still locked around his hip, Howard’s non-arse-teasing hand tight around his chest.

Howard plucks at Vince’s nipple as he pushes further into him. “Enjoying yourself?” he asks, low in Vince’s ear.

Vince can’t do very much, but he can turn and he can kiss Howard, he can rake his teeth over Howard’s bottom lip, and suck his tongue into his mouth. Howard’s fingers pinch Vince’s nipple. Vince opens his mouth as sensation blisters through him and Howard, glorious, surprising, _shocking_ Howard plunders Vince’s mouth like a fucking privateer.

Vince arches his back and Howard pushes further into him, his hands, his mouth, seemingly everywhere, and where he isn’t, Snake is.

His hand squeezes Vince’s cock, but he doesn’t speed his stroke. 

Vince huffs and whines while Howard’s finger goes deeper. Howard twists his hand and Vince’s arsehole gives against the pressure and stretches and then, pure, naked _electricity_ lights up every nerve ending in Vince’s body.

Vince practically screams into Howard’s mouth. It’s not going to take a whole lot more of that for Vince to lose it. 

“Fuck, I want you in me,” Vince says against Howard’s lips, “I want you to fuck me so _much_ , Howard.” 

“In a moment,” Howard says.

“ _Now_ ,” Vince demands.

Howard looks down at Snake and gives him a nod. 

Snake takes Vince to the hilt, so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that Vince wails. Every bob of Snake’s head pushes Vince onto Howard’s finger, and Howard continues to stretch him, stroke him, prepare him, while Snake practically unhinges his jaw so that he can live up to his name and swallow Vince alive.

It’s too much; Vince feels his orgasm closing in on him, the spangled, dancing energy getting closer and closer to the surface. He’s nearly, nearly there—

“Stop,” Howard says.

“No,” Vince pants, his cock practically seizing from the sudden withdrawal of Snake’s mouth. “No, I… so close…”

“Not yet,” Howard whispers.

“Howard,” Vince whines. Howard quiets him with a perfectly aimed stroke inside his body.

“Wait,” Howard says.

Vince’s balls feel so tight, they might well invert. “What for?” he asks.

Howard stretches him, pulls out, and then Vince feels the intrusion of his second finger. Fuck, his fingers are thick. Thick and long. “This,” Howard says. “I want to be in you when you come.”

Howard sure as hell isn’t going to be if he keeps talking like that, while he’s doing what he is. He might know it. Howard pulls out of him, his arm slips from around Vince’s chest. Vince feels cold and empty and he’s about to complain, but Howard interrupts him before he can.

“You should take care of him first,” he says.

He means Snake.

Snake, who is still knelt on the floor, Snake who watches them with an unreadable expression. Aroused, sure, but beyond that... Vince can’t tell what he’s thinking. But he thinks that he’s getting off as much as Vince is on Howard bossing them about. So...

“How?” Vince asks. If you blinked, you’d miss it, but Snake’s tongue peeks between his lips.

Howard caresses him, his hand slides up from Vince’s hip to his chest and up to his neck. He spreads his hand and traces Vince’s lips with his thumb. “With this,” he says.

Vince parts his lips and sucks Howard’s thumb into his mouth. He coils his tongue around it, sucks hard as he pulls off with a pop. “Like that?”

Howard swallows, then hums agreement. Vince grins and goes to kneel, but Howard stops him. “Snake, up on the bar.”

Snake goes up on one knee. “You’re the boss,” he says to Howard as he stands. Vince’s belly does a fucking cartwheel, hearing Snake confirm what Vince is feeling himself.

Snake walks to the bar, then turns around and hoists himself up with his hands. His trousers look incredibly tight and incredibly uncomfortable. Vince’s cock jumps eagerly. He’s fallen back from the edge, but he’s still painfully hard, still leaking steadily, still feeling like he could go at any moment.

Howard leans down. His lips tickle Vince’s ear as he says, “Go on.”

Vince shudders. He turns his face and Howard kisses him, then he pulls away. Vince knows what he’s supposed to do. He wishes he could make more of a show out of it, crossing the room in nothing but his exquisite pair of thigh-highs, but he’s sure he just looks like a man walking with an erection that’s fit to burst.

Whatever. Snake looks like he’s enjoying the show anyway. As Vince walks toward him, he sees motion in the darkness over his shoulder, and he realizes there’s a mirror behind the bar. He sees himself dimly reflected, sees his pale, narrow body and swollen cock, sees Howard watching his arse as he walks away from him.

Vince’s confidence in his ability to make the most of his (lack of an) outfit increases a thousandfold. 

Snake spreads his legs and Vince steps between his knees and rests his hands on Snake’s thighs, then waits. 

In the mirror, Howard moves closer. He stops just behind Vince. “Get him out,” he says in a voice that sounds like chocolate spilled on black velvet.

Vince goes for Snake’s fly, unfastens his button, then pulls down his zip. Snake is wearing tight, black Y-fronts. Very obviously tented black Y-fronts. Vince tugs them down and Snake lifts himself so that Vince can get them all the way off. Snake’s cock springs free. Vince smiles, feeling slightly shy. It’s always a little weird, the first time he sees a dick. He’s reliably larger than most of his cock-equipped partners, and Snake is no exception.

Howard’s hands close on Vince’s shoulders and Vince newly reminded that Howard almost certainly will be the exception to the rule as the head of his prick bumps against his arse. Howard steps closer, leans over Vince’s shoulder and looks down at Snake’s prick. 

“Touch him,” Howard says. “Gently.”

Vince starts at the base and works his way up to the head of Snake’s cock, tracing up the underside with his fingertip, watching him shimmy and twitch for him, then he traces his way back down. He dips his finger down to Snake’s balls, then up again, all the way.

“He wants you,” Howard says. “Look at how he’s looking at you.”

Vince does as Howard asks and looks at Snake’s face. His eye shines in the dark. He’s beautiful, with his strong jaw and perfectly curved lips. And yes. Vince can see in the way he’s looking at him. Snake wants him.

“Of course he does,” Howard rumbles. He cups Vince’s arse, his hand big enough to cover nearly the whole of it, before he slides his fingers down to the tops of the thigh-highs. Vince sees Snake’s eyeline fall, as Howard’s hand comes around Vince’s front and slides up toward his cock. Snake bites his lip. 

Howard withdraws. “Bend over. Give him a kiss.”

Vince bends at the waist. His arse bumps against Howard’s thigh and Howard takes a step back. Vince kisses the tip of Snake’s prick chastely and sticky precum comes away on his lips.

“Lick him,” Howard says.

Vince lays the flat of his tongue on the underside of Snake’s prick and licks all the way up to the head.

Howard’s hand dips down into the crease of Vince’s arse. He starts teasing Vince’s entrance. “Show me how you’d suck me, Vince.”

Vince wraps his mouth around the head of Snake’s cock, feeling lightheaded. It’s Howard’s directive that keeps him from taking Snake all the way down immediately. If it were Howard’s cock Vince were sucking, he’d want to keep him there a while, want to taste him and feel him slowly come apart, want to hear him whimper before he came. He’d want to hear Howard admit how much he’s wanted it too. 

Vince wraps his hand around the base of Snake’s prick, slides down to meet his hand then pulls off him, leaving plenty of saliva behind. He slides his hand upward, slicking up his palm, before a firm downward pump. One more time back up, then, as he slides his hand down, he follows it with his mouth.

Behind him, Howard has relubed his fingers. He probes into Vince, as Vince starts building a rhythm on Snake’s cock, twisting his hand while he slides up and down. Snake’s hips start to shake.

Vince makes it slow, moaning every time Howard teases further into him, moaning every time he hears Snake swear or gasp, then moaning long, and low when Howard starts properly scissoring him open.

“That’s it, Vince,” Howard says. “Tell us how much you like it. Having both of us at once.” Howard pushes into him, holds his hip with his other hand. He squeezes Vince’s waist, strokes inside of him, a long, deep drag that Vince feels down in his toes. “Gorgeous,” Howard says. “He wants to touch you. Should I let him?”

It’s not even moaning anymore, it’s full out singing, that’s what Vince is doing. He keeps working Snake’s cock, unable to form any other response to Howard’s question.

When Snake’s hand caresses the back of Vince’s neck, Vince feels it the same way he’d feel an old burn. It’s something too raw to contain the dullness of the sensation, the edge of the thrill buried somewhere other than the caress of fingers on skin. It’s being kept in Howard’s voice, in his easy command, in the flawless, inescapable sense that it’s _Howard_ allowing it, commanding it, giving it to Vince. Even if it is Snake’s hand gripping the rats’ nest of his hair, pulling sparkling motes of tension along his scalp, it’s only because Howard has told him he can.

Vince licks the head of Snake’s prick. He twists his hand and Snake says, _That’s it, Sunshine,_ to which Howard says, “Make him come.”

It doesn’t take long once Vince really puts his mind to it. He bobs his head along with his hand, speeds his pumping up, then, he remembers. Like he’d do it for Howard. He takes his hand away, holds Snake’s balls, slides his lips all the way down to the base of Snake’s cock and sucks as hard as he can (like he’s wanted it for fifteen fucking years) (like he’s never wanted anyone to come in his mouth more than he wants it now) (like he’s claiming his rightful property) (just like he’d do it for _Howard_ ). 

Snake swears. His fingers tighten in Vince’s hair, his other hand taps helplessly on Vince’s shoulder. If he thinks Vince isn’t going to swallow, he’s fucking dreaming. When it’s really Howard’s prick, Vince is going to drink him down like fucking Sprite, claim every single drop of him that he can. 

Snake’s release pulses into the back of Vince’s throat and Vince sucks him clean until Snake is trembling. 

Vince only realizes that Howard has stopped opening him when it’s done. He stands up and makes eye contact with Howard in the mirror. He licks his lips. “Did I do it like you wanted?”

Howard’s hand closes around Vince’s ribcage. He spreads his fingers wide, laying each one between one of Vince’s ribs. “Yes. Perfect.”

Vince’s chest rises and falls under Howard’s large, all-encompassing hand. “Fuck me now?”

Howard nods.

Snake slides off the bar, positions himself on his knees in front of Vince’s hips, and Vince remembers that Snake needs him to finish in his mouth, remembers that both Snake and Howard are going to be working together to push him over the edge.

It’s not going to be difficult. 

Howard surrounds him again, like he did at the beginning, with his arm around Vince’s chest. His fingers probe into him and give him another stretch. “Are you ready?” Howard asks.

“Yeah,” Vince says, and then he feels Howard start guiding himself into his body. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Vince says, because there really isn’t anything else to say when Howard is splitting him nearly in half in the best and most pleasurable way possible.

Vince spreads his legs, shuffles the soles of the thigh-highs further apart. Howard continues to inch forward into him. Of course, it takes an age since he’s so fucking _big_. Finally, he stops, unable to go any further. Then, he pulls back. Then he does it all again.

It’s like he’s testing him with each slow thrust and withdrawal, seeing what Vince can take. The answer to that is, a lot more than he’s getting. “Howard,” Vince says. He grips Howard’s thigh, pulls him into him. “More, Howard. Please.”

Howard laughs, and Vince’s soul leaves his body. How is he like this? How does he have the patience for it? Vince has no idea. All he knows is that Howard is making him feel every second he’s inside him. 

Vince works himself backward and Howard slides into him more quickly, “Howard. I need you so much, I want you so much. Please, just, fuck me.”

“I am, Vince,” Howard says, kissing his neck. “I’m here.”

“Not enough,” Vince whines. “Christ, kiss me.”

Howard kisses his cheek, and Vince turns his head toward him so that he can catch Vince’s lips. He wishes Howard were in front of him, wishes Howard were covering him, that they were in a bed and all alone, that Howard could be holding him, and as soon as Vince thinks that, Howard’s arms wrap around him. It’s better, Howard’s palms planted over his chest and stomach, but it’s not enough.

“More,” Vince says against Howard’s lips, “More, Howard, I need—”

Howard snaps into him.

“ _Yes_ ,” Vince groans.

It’s like a tap has been turned on. Howard thrusts into him, adjusting his stance so that he’s fucking Vince exactly where he needs, exactly how he needs. Every thrust is like music, like recycled bass pumped through water and then set on fire. “Yes,” Vince says again, and again.

And then Snake’s lips close over the head of Vince’s cock and Vince can’t say anything.

It’s thirty seconds max, can’t be more than that, no one could take it for longer than that. The countdown timer on Snake’s wristband starts to beep. Vince hears it marching down from ten, to nine, to eight, and Howard drives into his prostate, and Snake slurps up his cock and Vince shakes, trembles as the timer ticks past three, then two and then he lets it all go.

Snake swallows every drop of his release, greedy for Vince’s life-saving semen. Vince’s head lolls back onto Howard’s shoulder. He can hardly support his own weight. Fortunately, he doesn’t really need to. Howard is holding him up. “That’s it,” he says against Vince’s neck, “that’s it.”

“Fuck me, Howard, come in me, I need… I need…” Vince needs, but doesn’t know what. He can’t say. His brain has been obliterated. “I love you,” Vince moans. He remembers that. That’s all he can remember.

The room gets darker.

Snake wipes his lips with the back of his hand. He stands up. He reaches for Vince’s face, “You saved me, Sunshine,” he says, but his fingers never get close to Vince’s skin.

Howard’s arms are still around him, but they don’t feel the same. Vince sees himself in the mirror over the bar and then he doesn’t. He sees nothing but dark. Feels nothing but fading light and fading sensation.

He’s falling asleep, or dying, or waking up.

He’s waking up.

“Good job, ballbag, leaving it on the porn setting like that. How do you think Vince is going to feel when he wakes up?”

There is a low sigh. “Bollo have needs. Bollo not know Vince take DVD player from Naboo’s room.”

“Could have guessed. I’ve told you to turn it back if you use it for that. What do you think Howard was thinking, Bollo?”

“Thinking about what?” Vince asks, opening his eyes. He’s laid out on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. The DVD menu for _Escape from New York_ is playing on the telly. He rubs his forehead, feeling absolutely knackered. “Christ, what happened?”

“Nothing,” Bollo says quickly. “Howard definitely not see Vince’s erotic fantasies broadcast on screen. Definitely not know Vince in love with him.”

“Among other things,” Naboo mumbles.

Vince sits up, “What?” he looks at Naboo, then at Bollo. The words they’ve said slowly trickle into his brain. He very, very slowly starts to understand. It didn’t really happen. Or it did. But Howard wasn’t really there, but if he wasn’t there, then _What do you think Howard was thinking_ … Vince’s eyes go wide. “What!?”

“Take it easy, Vince,” Naboo says quietly. “It’s fine.”

“Doesn’t fucking sound fine!” Vince looks around the room, “Where is he? Where’s Howard?”

No one seems to want to answer him.

Vince stands up and wobbles unsteadily.

“Easy, Vince,” Naboo says. “You’ve just come back from inside the DVD. You need to relax, yeah?”

“How the hell am I supposed to relax?” Vince asks, falling back onto the sofa. He can’t help it. His legs feel like rubber. “Howard… he wasn’t with me? He _saw that_?”

“Uhhh,” Bollo says, staring at the floor.

“Sort of,” Naboo admits.

It’s the worst thing Vince can imagine.

That is, until Howard clears his throat. Vince turns around and sees him standing awkwardly near the mouth of the hallway, not looking at Vince _at all_.

Probably because he thinks Vince is a huge fucking pervert who has a ridiculous crush on him… no, not even a crush. He knows that Vince is in love with him. Not enough to turn down a threeway with Snake Plissken, though, and… oh Christ. Vince can’t look at him either.

Naboo says something about needing to align Bollo’s chakras before the moon comes up and the pair of them retreat hastily. Vince hears the sound of Naboo’s door shut.

It’s so quiet, that Vince isn’t sure that Howard is still in the room, but he doesn’t want to take the chance and check. It’s a long time before either of them say anything.

Normally, it’s Vince who breaks the ice, who says something after a fight, or when something weird happens. It’s just how it goes.

This time, though, it’s Howard.

He clears his throat again. “So…”

“Shut up,” Vince says. Vince buries his face in his hands, tries to escape into an alternate dimension that he _might_ be keeping in the dark of his palms (you never know). No such luck, though. When Vince takes his hands away from his face, he’s still sat on the sofa. Howard is still in the kitchen, about as far from Vince as he can possibly get while still being in the same room.

“Say something!” Vince demands and Howard’s shoulders draw up toward his ears.

“I was trying to!”

“Yeah, and?”

“And you told me to shut up!”

“Alright, well. Don’t!”

“Okay!” Howard shouts. He wipes his face with his hand. “Christ.”

He sounds so out of patience, so bewildered, so very like how Vince feels himself that Vince can’t help smiling. It doesn’t help, though. It only serves to drive home what Vince knows already. Things aren’t going to be able to go back to how they were, no matter how much he apologizes for… whatever the fuck he’s about to apologize for. “Sorry you had to… sorry you… uhm… sorry I—”

“No, Vince, really, it’s… I mean, it’s not _fine_ , exactly, but…”

Vince sighs. “But what?”

“Well, Naboo said it was… it wasn’t like… The DVD player was on a _setting_ that sort of steered you in a direction and… anyway. I just… you know. You probably wouldn’t have… _that_ … if… so…” Howard blows a breath through his lips, “yep,” he concludes. 

“Yeah,” Vince agrees. “Probably wouldn’t have.” He stands up, not really sure where he’s going until he’s already shut himself in the bathroom and locked the door. He leans his back against it and slides to the floor, not because he’s feeling weak, but because he just fucking wants to die.

He can’t believe that, of all the fucking ways for Howard to find out about how Vince feels, this is the one that the universe has picked, and, further, that _he still doesn’t actually seem to think that Vince feels anything_. Maybe he does. Maybe, this is just his way of trying to let Vince off the hook without saying outright that he doesn’t feel the same.

Maybe, he’s going to pretend and Vince is going to pretend, and tomorrow, when Vince starts sobbing in the shop and says it’s because he thinks he looks like shit in green, they’ll both pretend to believe it. Maybe, Howard will still give him one of those awkward pats he sometimes gives when Vince is feeling down.

Or maybe, he’ll never touch him again, because he knows, now, that Vince is a stupid little slag who fantasizes about him, and who wants to fuck him, and who is _in love with him_.

The knock on the door is reluctant. It sounds like it wants to turn and go in the other direction and then bury its head in the sand, then sink to the bottom of the Atlantic, never to be found again. Vince doesn’t respond. He assumes Howard will go away. 

He doesn’t.

“Vince,” he says. “Can… could we talk, maybe?”

“Don’t want to,” Vince says.

“I… understand. But, I think—”

“Look, Howard, I know, alright? I get it. You don’t… and, fuck.” Vince chews his lip, grinds the heel of his palm into his eye socket so that his stupid eyes stop feeling so hot. “I never thought you did. And I never meant for you to… to find out. So… just… I’m really sorry, okay?”

“Why?”

“For… that. It’s not… I don’t think… Christ, Howard. Could we just forget it?”

Vince hears Howard lean up against the door, hears him breathing just on the other side of the wood. He waits for him to say _yes_. 

“Vince, no. I don’t think we can.”

Vince’s eyes flutter shut. The heat overflows and rolls down his cheek, leaving a damp trail in its wake. “Howard…”

“It’s just… you said… was any of it true? What you said?”

“Bout what?” Vince asks sullenly. He’s unwilling to understand what Howard means. If he pretends to be stupid enough, maybe Howard will get frustrated and go away.

“That… oh sod it,” Howard says, and Vince assumes he’ll leave, but Howard tries the doorknob. “Couldn’t you at least open the door? I can’t talk to bloody plywood and say what I need to. Please?”

Vince sighs and struggles up to his feet. He unlocks the door and opens it a crack. “Yeah?”

Howard’s face is all scrunchy and weird. Determined. That’s how he looks. Like he’s going to do what needs doing, no matter what. It’s like the Howard from the DVD; that easy, in-charge, no-nonsense Howard that has Vince’s number even though he never uses it to call him.

Great.

Vince looks down at his boots, and vaguely wishes they were the thigh-highs he had on in his head, or the DVD, or wherever the hell he was. If they were, at least something would be going right.

“You said you loved me. In the film,” Howard says. Vince nods. “Do you?”

Vince pushes his hand into the back of his hair and pulls at his roots. He can’t look up. He can’t actually say it. He just nods again.

“Okay,” Howard says. “Right. Vince…”

Vince holds his breath. He waits for Howard to say, _I’m terribly sorry_ or some other thing that sounds like it should be said at a garden party after bumping into an old lady and spilling a bit of her tea and not at the end of Vince’s whole world. He doesn’t say it, though. He doesn’t say anything.

Vince peels his eyes away from the floor, and finally looks Howard in the eye.

Howard’s arms do a thing. A thing where they rise up, then hang between them, sort of like Howard is imitating a tyrannosaurus rex, then they stretch out like a pair of stiff accordions, like they’re trying to spring back on themselves, but they keep going forward until Howard’s hands are resting on either side of Vince’s face.

Vince looks into Howard’s eyes. He sees something there that he’s not expecting. He doesn’t understand it. He can’t believe it. It can’t be real, but if it was… but how could it be? And yet, Howard’s hands aren’t going anywhere, and Vince doesn’t want them to, and Howard hasn’t looked away from him for at least twenty seconds, so…

Vince wraps his arms around Howard’s waist and kisses him. It’s tickly, and soft, and just about perfect.

Howard pulls away from him slightly. He smiles. “I love you, Vince.”

Vince laughs. “I love you, too.”

“Good,” Howard says. He caresses Vince’s face, follows the trail where the tears were with his thumb and completely wipes them away. He clears his throat for a third time, and this time, it makes Vince smile. “Just… in the film… You know that I’m not exactly… like that?”

Vince traces Howard’s chest with his fingers, plays with the edge of his tiki patterned button down. “Not as big?” Vince asks.

“No, not… not that,” Howard admits and Vince grins. “Just, the sort of, er… the things that I was doing. I was saying.”

“Oh,” Vince says. He wiggles slightly closer to Howard, surprised at how much his imagination (or whatever) got right. Howard feels just as he felt, pleasant, and soft, and safe, like Vince could curl up on him like a kitten and never have to worry about anything ever again. “That’s alright. I was a bit surprised when you were so,” Vince swallows, remembering when Howard was instructing him to get Snake out, “like that.”

“You liked it though?” Howard asks.

“Yeah. But, Howard? I’d like it any way with you.”

Howard rubs Vince’s back and then gives him another kiss. It’s halting and shy (something that doesn’t know if it’s properly allowed, yet) but it’s still just right. “Good,” Howard says. He folds Vince up in his arms and Vince’s heartbeat accelerates.

He’s thinking about maybe inviting Howard into his room, just to find out what Howard will actually be like when Howard’s hands slide down to the tops of his thighs. He fingers the stitch of Vince’s drainpipes, right about at the spot the thigh-highs had come up to. “You don’t… er… have boots like those, do you?” he asks.

Vince smirks. “No, but I think I need some.”

Howard nods. “I think you do.”

“Howard?”

“Yeah?”

“I have got panties like that, though. If you want to see.”

Howard nods. “Yes, that’s. Yep. Good. Alright.”

Vince grabs his hand and goes to pull him into his room, but Howard doesn’t follow. Instead he stays where he is. Vince turns, wondering if something has gone wrong, but then he catches the look on Howard’s face. Howard tugs him back, then bends down and lifts Vince off his feet like he weighs nothing.

“What are you doing?” Vince asks, giggling.

“Taking you to bed,” Howard says simply, as he walks Vince over his threshold and kicks the door shut behind them.

Maybe he's not exactly like he was in the film, but whatever he lacks in experience, he makes up for with enthusiasm. They both do.

**Author's Note:**

> Katey, I hope this fic was all you wanted. Merry and Happy, my darling! You deserve it!


End file.
